


Fruit Course

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Pointless, Silly, Well I did warn you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:17:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1912389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something strange in the sitting-room. Written for JWP #6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fruit Course

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: It's very silly, and without much of a point. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a complete rush. You have been warned.
> 
>  
> 
> JWP #6: For me? A botanical gift (from persons known or unknown).

Over the years living with Sherlock Holmes, I had grown accustomed to finding odd bits of memorabilia and accoutrements in our sitting-room (and occasionally in other, less welcome places, like the butter-dish). Very little could startle me by the summer of 1896 – or so I would have said, if asked.  
  
And yet I found myself utterly perplexed one fine summer’s morning when I opened the sitting-room door only to behold a tree in the midst of our furniture. A potted tree, but a tree nonetheless.  
  
“Ah, there you are, Watson. I see the tobacconist has not yet made up a new stock of your preferred blend.”  
  
Another time I might have asked Holmes to explain how he’d deduced that fact. He was right, of course, and I delighted in hearing his chain of deductions almost as much as my friend enjoyed sharing them. But my attention was fixed in another direction. “Why is there a tree in the middle of our sitting-room?”  
  
“It’s an orange tree,” Holmes pointed out, not looking up from his chemical table.  
  
As the tree was not actually orange, I assumed Holmes meant that it was a tree that grew oranges. “Thank you for clarifying that, Holmes. But identifying the type of tree does not actually explain _why_ there’s an orange tree in the middle of our sitting-room.”  
  
Holmes let out a familiar sigh; one that indicated that I had missed a clue of importance, at least in his mind. “It’s a gift from Lady Picano.”  
  
Ah. She had been our client in a case some weeks previous, a matter I had jotted down in my note-book, but had not yet found a title for. ‘The Haunted Peal’ was entirely too sensationalistic, even in my private writings; and ‘The Missing Change-Ringers’ was both too prosaic and rather misleading. In any event, her manor had included a remarkable orangery, which might explain why Holmes thought identifying the tree should have provided me the clue I needed to divine the giver. Still… “Why did she give us a tree?”  
  
At that, Holmes set down his chemistry notes and threw his hands in the air. “The mysteries of the female mind are your department, not mine, Watson.”  
  
The old dig did not rankle as it used to, but I still could not resist a teasing jibe in return. “Perhaps she decided you were a scurvy fellow after all, Holmes.” He and Lady Picano had not seen eye to eye at the beginning of the case, although she’d been entirely grateful to him by the end.  
  
My friend groaned and threatened to throw his notes at my head. “Watson…!”  
  
“Sorry, sorry. But what are we supposed to do with it?”  
  
Holmes ran one hand through his hair. “I haven’t the faintest idea. I don’t suppose Mrs Hudson…?”  
  
“Definitely not.” I cut off that line of thinking before Holmes could land us with a week’s worth of cold dinners.  
  
“Then perhaps a horticultural society, or a public park. There must be someone in London who would be delighted by the gift of an orange tree.” He grimaced. “Someone who _isn’t_ us.”


End file.
